


Something Old and New, Borrowed and Blue

by unbreakable_groundriot



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale/Crowley Focus, Background Anathema/Newt - Freeform, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Marriage, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-05-20 13:43:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19377883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbreakable_groundriot/pseuds/unbreakable_groundriot
Summary: Wedding invitations reek of love.





	1. The Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](unbreakable-groundriot.tumblr.com/). You totally can’t find the link to my kofi there either. Every comment is appreciated and I try to reply to them all no matter how small!

It starts, as it will end, with a bookshop.

 

There are, at minimum, six thousand things that Crowley finds endearing about the angel that he now officially calls his own. There are, of course, the less than innocent sounds that often come from their bedroom, but Crowley finds he enjoys the little things more enjoyable. There's the little scrunch of his nose when he's particularly happy or the wide eyed pout when he wants Crowley to do his bidding but is too shy or too proud to ask. On the mornings when the angel wakes before the demon, which is most days really, he carefully tucks Crowley in and kisses his forehead. He quite likes that one. When Crowley lets his facial hair grow out too much and rubs his face against those round cheeks it always brings out a rather goofy and very undemon like laugh as the angel complains and squirms. When they're out to lunch or dinner or whatever excuse Aziraphale has made to go for food he nudges his chair that much closer to Crowley's and rests his head on his shoulder until his meal and Crowley's beverage arrives. He's still never gotten around to learning that whole eating thing. Sometimes Aziraphale will tie one of his bow ties into Crowley's long fringe and laugh until his corporeal form can't breath. Other times there are the soft smiles that come when Crowley shuffles around their home in his long socks and briefs and one of Aziraphale's undershirts. It's a silly, basic thing but the fondness on the angel's face never fails to satisfy... Plus Aziraphale's shirts are well worn and comfortably too large.

 

He could go on and on about all the things he adores about his angel but at the moment it's the little wiggle he's witnessing as said angel reads whatever is in the overly ornate, dark envelope that's come in the mail. 

 

By the time Aziraphale has crawled up onto the bed and settled onto lounging demon's thighs he's already got that charming, treacherous look on his face that signals that Crowley is going to do whatever he's about to ask. "Darling look! Young Ms. Device and that boy Newton are getting married!" The invitation, dark blue cardstock printed with golden ink, practically radiates love and Crowley makes a face that only intensifies the beguiling little smile and big, faux innocent blue eyed look. "We just have to go! They're such a lovely couple. Do you think they're hyphenate? I'm sure they will." He turns the invitation to inspect it just a little more closely. "I'll just put us both down for the chicken. It comes with quinoa. Very new age..."

 

"I haven't said yes, angel." Crowley drawls out. His uncovered eyes wander to his own hands as they slide up Aziraphale's baby blue pajama bottoms. They're tastefully decorated with tacky little bears. At least it's not tartan. His hands stop at the angel's thighs and he gives them a lazy squeeze. "I could think of a hundred more interesting ways to spend a weekend than going to some human wedding."

 

"That's it! We could make a weekend of it. A mini holiday! We haven't had a proper holiday since... Well... Ever!" Ever the optimist Aziraphale completely ignores the huffy sputtering that comes from underneath him. "It will be lovely to get out of London for a bit. We didn't really have a chance to explore that charming little village and I just love weddings." He gives Crowley that damned sweet smile and with a snap the invitation is gone. No doubt it's already in the mailbox of Jasmine Cottage. 

 

"You are, without a doubt, the most insufferable, evil creature I have had the displeasure to know." Crowley pulls his angel down and kisses him once, twice, and three times. The weight feels good and he has free access to the bare skin of Aziraphale's back. It had been an interesting revelation when he discovered the angel prefered to sleep shirtless. It had been nearly a year since the near ending of the world and the two were still discovering things about each other now that their relationship had finally become something more than pining frenemies. "I'll go to the stupid wedding provided there is alcohol and I get to terrorize the DJ at least once."

 

"Oh I wouldn't expect anything less from you, my sweet thing." Aziraphale coos. He really is a bastard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The list of things Crowley likes was inspired by a Reddit thread tbh


	2. The Suggestion

 

Moving in together had been a no brainer really and it had happened very, very quickly. From the moment Aziraphale had boldly kissed him in the middle of their meal at the Ritz, Crowley had already been planning on what he was going to move into the loft of the angel's bookshop. His plants, of course, had come trembling along with him to dot the bookshop and loft. He'd brought several of his collected antiques and knick knacks too. There was no way in the 9 Circles Aziraphale would allow  _that_  statue anywhere near his home so, sadly, it had not made the trip. Finally he'd had to leave his bed behind. It was a shame really. The mattress practically conformed to his shape. 

 

He had gifted Aziraphale with two things when he'd moved in: an iPad and a brand new bed. The iPad was accepted with confusion that turned into delight once the angel had been taught how to use the device. The bed was a bit small for two male shaped beings but it was amazingly soft and its smallness allowed for real, proper snuggling. 

 

Those things combined found Crowley contently lounging with his back to Aziraphale's bare chest as the angel scrolled through Amazon in search of the perfect wedding gift. It should be noted that Amazon had been Crowley's doing. It just fueled human greed and he was quite proud of it. He feels the gentle press of a kiss the the top of his head. His hair is flopped over every which way thanks to laziness after a burning hot shower. His beloved angel's human habits had started to rub off on him in some aspects. He showered now rather than miracled himself into a constantly clean state. He made his coffee using a coffee pot rather than miracling it into existence too. He did refuse to properly buy clothes. Too much of a hassle. 

 

"I've never been invited to a modern wedding let alone a wedding between a witch and witchfinder." Aziraphale pouts as he plants another kiss to the brimstone and sandalwood scented head under his chin. "What does one purchase for such a union?"

Crowley shifts barely so he can properly look at the screen. "Get them a bulk box of condoms. Don't need any kids running around yet." This earns him a pinch on the belly and what is probably a scolding look that he can't see. "What? I'm being practical! Those two are probably fucking like rabbits!"

"That is not something either of us should be thinking about or judging. Children are a blessing! I hope they have a whole brood of them!" He sets the device aside on the tiny bedside table. "Imagine hearing those little feet running around when they visit." The angel sighs wistfully. They haven't returned to Tadfield since  _The Thing That Wasn't_ , but that hasn't stopped them from entertaining various visitors from the town. Aziraphale was quite fond of "Ms. Device" and Crowley and Newton had long since learned to ignore each other. Adam had even spent a weekend with the unconventional pair to learn about his "heritage." 

 

Aziraphale manages to lay back properly among the half dozen pillows and Crowley rolls over to pillow his head on the pale, warm chest he'd been leaning on. His feet hang off of the bed just barely but he'll properly wiggle up when they finally decide to sleep. Sleep is a habit he's gotten his angel into over the months since things almost ended. It felt good to have a warm body in his bed and he found his partner was a little less high strung when he got a few hours of sleep. It was all around a good deal. 

 

"You don't want children in your shop, 'Zira." He little nickname came easily about three months in. Said "Zira" was the one fond of pet names really. "They've got sticky little hands and poor fine motor skills. Books don't like that at all." The body under him shivers at the very idea. "I suppose... When they're older..." The angel trails off. He uses his thumb to stroke the tattoo that decorates Crawley's sideburn. "I'll think of a fine gift and perhaps a blessing for the wedding. Oh, I love weddings. They're always so full of love. I'm sure the ceremony will be lovely. The invitation declared it a semi-casual garden party. No doubt Ms. Device is going to think of something wonderful." He's got that wistful sigh in his voice again as he chatters on. Crowley drowns him out after only a few moments.  

 

Crowley has never quite understood the purpose of marriage. There were tax benefits, apparently, but it all seemed like a lot of fuss over proving to the world that you were living together and most likely having frequent sex. He takes Aziraphale's free hand and strokes over his soft, manicured fingers. His own have recently been carefully massaged with lotion and then his nails painted black. Aziraphale had insisted on it and he could never really tell him no. He pauses at the delicate pinky finger that has the slightest hint of a pale band around it from the winged ring that Aziraphale wears every day. It currently sits on the bedside table along with tiny harp cufflinks and  the angel's just-for-show reading glasses. 

 

Maybe there was something to marriage. Not the ceremony or the paperwork, but something... There was a sense of ownership and permanency. Divorce costs money, you know, and there was often messy battles over alimony and custody. Seemed like a hassle to divorce really. A happy marriage though... Didn't sound so bad. 

 

He had waited for over six thousand years for his angel to become  _his_  angel. He fingers pause now on the angel's ring finger. 

 

Crowley was rather brilliant, if lazy, at his former job as a hell raising demon. He had an active imagination that no other demon could claim. He had the patience of a thousand saints. He was also, at times, an impulsive fool. "We ought to get married." He finds himself shocked that the hand in his pulls away very suddenly and the artificially breathing chest under him simply stops. Two soft hands cup his cheeks and Aziraphale sits up just enough so they can really look at each other. 

"Oh...My sweet boy... I... I don't think that's in our stars." The angel's voice is so soft and so tender and so, so apologetic.

Crowley does what he always does when Aziraphale breaks his heart: He swallows his pride and pushes away the hurt. If he pretends it never happened then it can't hurt. "I think it's time for bed." He turns his head and kisses one of those soft hands. 

"Of course, dear. Of course."

 

 


	3. The Vision

They did not speak of the incident again. In the morning Crowley had awoken to find himself pressed into the bed with his ears filled with whispers of loved and his body filled with something else. Then his angel had plopped their heaviest electric blanket over him and gave him permission to sleep in all day. That had been the only apology and discussion he could expect. 

 

Despite having a few thousand years of time to make up for, the pair weren't always "up each other's asses" as he'd heard some American say once. Aziraphale spent most of his days as he always had: reading and collecting books while politely scaring away anyone who dare enter the bookshop. Some days he wanders off on his own to purchase a book or just take a walk for fresh air. Crowley terrorizes his plants with hushed threats while his angel works or spends far too much time on his phone browsing the internet or playing one of those "match three" games. He gladly took credit for those mindless time wasters. Pinterest too. Even he couldn't resist the allure of pinning. He takes his own walks and drives and more often than not comes back with burning hot coffee and some nibbles to make his angel smile. 

Most days they come together several times whether for tea or the briefest peck on the lips for want of attention. In between there are walks around the city together and terrifying drives to new restaurants. Lazing about together on the couch or in bed is absolutely required in the evenings. They might just lay there while Crowley watches mindless television and Aziraphale reads. They might dirty the sheets for hours or press close and talk about nothing in particular. Drinking far too much is still a beloved pastime, too. They cherished every moment together, but they were still individuals. 

 

Today was a walk around the city sort of day. Without the crushing repression and constant fear of Falling Aziraphale had become quite the physically affectionate man-shaped being. He holds tightly to Crowley's hand as they walk and refuses to let go even as he gesticulates about...whatever it is he's going on about. He does love to hear his angel's voice but his focus is on... _It_. 

 

It is everywhere. It is on every billboard and advert stuck to posts. It is in every store window and he swear he saw It happening as they passed some rather nice restaurant that the angel commented on as they passed. 

 

It was billboards for engagement rings and wedding bands. It was posters for florists and caterers. It was inviting looking shops with shiny rings in the windows. It was a woman squealing and flapping her hands while some idiot was on his knee in front of her. 

 

Maybe this was his punishment. Hell had finally decided that a year was long enough to leave him be and now they were in his head. They knew and this was the ultimate torture. Bastards. 

 

He grunts when he finds himself at a sudden stop. For all his pretty blonde softness Aziraphale was still an angel and still incredibly strong. His attention has been captured by some rather pretentious looking thrift shop with a vaguely occult name. Had it always been there? It reminded him too much of that witch girl down to the smell that wafts out the door as a woman leaves. Probably the young former antichrist's doing. "We simply must go in, pet." He smiles up at Crowley and the demon can only sigh as if put out. In truth that little, well, pet name always made him melt. "I still haven't found a proper gift and you've been no help!" 

"Yeah yeah. Come on then." He grumbles out.


	4. The Wedding

Crowley was not the jealous type. He was very, very possessive, but he was never jealous. He had his angel and his angel would never stray. If he was the jealous type he would, most likely, be close to combustion at all times. When he was happy Aziraphale exuded a sense of peace and calm that drew in human like moths to a flame. They wanted to talk to him and touch him and, often, flirt with him. 

His angel was not considered particularly attractive by modern human standards of beauty. His corporeal form was a little older and soft. His hair was unnaturally pale and maybe his nose was just not quite right for his face. He, as well as Crowley, had been considered extoic millennia ago when the human race was still dark of feature all around. Now Aziraphale was considered charmingly plain with his kind eyes and beaming smiles and frumpy clothes. In contrast the demon could often smell lust ooze out of some humans who he caught looking him up and down. It was charming when Aziraphale caught wind of the mix of pheromones and weird, human body fluids. Poor things couldn't help it really. Crowley knew his form was considered very attractive and he very much liked the attention. It was younger in appearance, though he was much older than the angel, and he did try to keep up with modern style as best suited his form. It was even something of a hobby. 

 

Aziraphale wasn't really the jealous type either, but he was even more possessive than his demonic companion. He had always silently demanded all of Crowley's focus, which he had more than gladly given, and those soft eyes would turn steeley and dark if any who lusted after the demon dare make eye contact. Now that they were no longer dancing around each other the angel took great pleasure in introducing Crowley as his boyfriend. It was never partner as some male humans liked to use. It was a little juvenile for Crowley's taste, but he would take anything his angel offered. He seemed to like to be as blunt about their relationship as possible. It was cute really.

On one occasion a rather nasty older woman who had caught sight of Crowley lounging in the bookshop had accused Crowley of taking advantage of sweet Mr. Fell. She'd called him nothing more than a gigolo. "Even if I was paying him for his time I would still be the luckiest being alive!" Sweet Mr. Fell had been quite rude as he'd nearly shoved the woman out of his shop. Said bookshop remained closed for two days after that little incident. Another incident that really tickled Crowley's fancy occured on a fine, sunny autumn afternoon. The demon had elected to remain outside basking in the warm sunshine while the angel haggled over some book in some dusty shop he'd begged Crowley to accompany him to. An admittedly handsome business-human had paused to chat him up about this or that when suddenly the heels on his oxfords had suddenly vanished sending him tumbling back into a hard, but ultimately harmless meeting with the ground. Crowley had only seen the flash of his angel's face in the window but he had felt the wave of angelic annoyance directed at the fallen human. It really was cute...And somewhat terrifying. 

 

Currently the demon Crowley sits sprawled all long legged and lazy at a table near the back of the disgusting outdoor reception of the newly named Device-Pulsifer couple. It was growing late into the night and he was growing more and more drunk on champagne that never seemed to end. That had been his gift to the glowing couple: copious amounts of alcohol. He tolerates the fairy lights and loud human laughter because he is, for one, very drunk, and two Aziraphale has spent the day exuding joy and absorbing the love that stank up the place. He'd sat with his head on Crowley's shoulder during the ceremony and had sighed and smiled and practically cooed at the sight of the flustered couple as their hands were bound and they exchanged vows that were thankfully secular. The last wedding Crowley had attended had caused him to break out in hives for a week. 

After there had been eating and drinking and toasts and dancing. They did not partake in the dancing. His angel had been more than happy to discuss the philosophy of prophecy with the Device family and equally as happy to entertain the various little Pulsifer cousins with tiny miracles that made them giggle and gasp. For a time Crowley had dutifully followed the angel around as he mingled. He'd introduced them with, "I'm Aziraphale, old family name, and this is my boyfriend Crowley, old family name. You know how these things are."

His angel had kept a gentle hand on his lower back for most of the evening as if to force him to stay and socialize. He actually quite liked parties, but this was a human wedding and human weddings had been plaguing his very existence for weeks. On the bright side he does force the DJ to play "Killer Queen" four times in a row before he has been given a _look_ by Aziraphale and he'd ceded control back to the flustered DJ. 

After some time he'd grown tired of humans and the stink of love and the dizzying angelic aura Aziraphale was exuding. A quick kiss had distracted the angel mid-sentence and he'd managed to slink off while his brain was still on the fritz. He'd found his conveniently empty table and a champagne flute and settled in for a few hours of drinking and waiting for his angel.

 

With the equivalent of three bottles of bubbly bubbling through his bloodstream Crowley couldn't really feel his face or the dopey grin he would  flash his angel when their eyes met from across the perfectly green lawn. Weddings really weren't his scene, but drinking and admiring an angel from afar was something he had about six thousand years experience. What he had never experienced in all his years on Earth was Newton Device-Pulsifer, they'd gone alphabetically you see, plopping down next to him dead drunk and holding a bottle of the wonderful, never ending champagne. The boy, and Crowley knew he was a grown man but all humans seemed rather young to him, was all red faced and his formerly stylish suit was ruffled from an evening of dancing and drinking and having far too much fun. 

The pair had never really clicked. They'd made vague small talk when forced together by their respective partners but that was more because they'd wanted to avoid icy glares and even colder beds more than anything else.

 

"You are drunk." The human declared with all the confidence and pride that drunken humans seemed to muster. 

"And you are so drunk you won't be able to get it up for your new wife tonight." The demon's response is a little slow and slurred but he was quite proud of it.   


A slow smile spreads over Newt's face. He leans in as if there's anyone around to hear them. He takes a big swig of his champagne before speaking again. "Already taken care of, my friend. Behind the big tree there." He gestures vaguely to the massive willow he'd been married under just a few hours ago. He holds up two fingers. "Twice."

Crowley's nose wrinkles and he tips his head from side to side lazily. "Explains the smell I suppose. I refused to attend any...baby showers. Americans like those, you know. Should've gotten you that bulk box, but 'Zira didn't like the idea." He snatches the champagne bottle away from Newt and lets it drop onto the table and tumble to the ground. The champagne will begin to dry up soon and the humans should, hopefully, disperse. 

 

Newton is bold when he's drunk. He flaps his mouth mockingly and rolls his eyes. He turns his attention to where his much more sober wife and and her much more sober white haired friend are actively pouting into their glasses. They're bone dry thanks to Crowley's cruelty. Aziraphale shoots the pair a bit of a pout which is met by a drunken wave from the demon. 

"When're you two tying the knot, huh? Your type can get married now." He blinks slow and dull. "Better way to put that, I'm sure. Point is, you," and he really stretches out the word, "look worse than I do when I look at Ana...Anat... My wife. That's what my mum said when she saw you two." 

 

The fallen champagne bottle rights itself suddenly. It flies onto the table, fills with champagne, and from somewhere the cork, foil, and muselet slither back onto the neck of the bottle. Somewhere in France a very frazzled vintner suddenly finds that at least two of her many, many empty bottles are now full again. It doesn't really help her situation.

The demon sits up just a little straighter. He sets his eyes on the blearily confused human eyeing the bottle. Newt's eyes meet his through his ever present sunglasses. "He told me no." For the first time in his long life he feels jealousy in the pit of his stomach. He stands and saunters past the human and gives him a clap on the shoulder that nearly jostles the poor thing's glasses right off his face. "Congrats, human." 

He walks away and takes a very long time to return.


	5. The Question

They spoke to each other every day, of course. Cohabitation and an unhealthy paranoia brought on by existence nearly ending sort of guaranteed that they wouldn't be apart for more than a few hours at a time. During meals Aziraphale did most of the talking. He also did most of the talking as they walked around the city or sat at their usual bench in the park. Crowley liked to just hear his voice and watch his expressive face shift with every word and tone. It didn't matter what his angel was saying. He cared only that he was never more than a few feet away and perfectly happy. In the familiar back room of the bookshop or in the Bentley where Aziraphale still feared discorporation, Crowley was more often the one talking. He spoke of things that made his angel's face scrunch with horror or turn red from the salaciousness of the acts within his stories. 

In the quiet of their bedroom, even on the days or weeks they wouldn't sleep, they would whisper together as if hiding from the world. They spoke of regrets. They spoke of all the things they could have done instead of hiding away their feelings for thousands of years. The fear of being punished had not been on the forefront of either of their minds. They weren't very good at being an angel and a demon. Sometimes Crowley even half believed he saw a grey tint to their feathers. They had feared pushing the other away. They had feared of going too fast or too slow. They were total opposites and yet had come together as best friends and lovers. 

 

They rarely spoke of true emotion. Little whispers of love where common and pet names and kind gestures were the norm, but their true feelings were still locked away. He was a demon who had spent six thousand years trying to be someone he wasn't and he was an angel who had spent six thousand years terrified of being himself.

They did not speak of why Crowley had left the wedding so suddenly. They did not speak of why he'd been gone for hours. Aziraphale had simply greeted him with a kiss and a proper scolding about running off without warning. 

 

The Earth still turned. 

 

He had not meant to Fall. He had asked too many questions and hung around angels who were more disobedient than curious. Why did he have to hang the stars? What made the archangels so special? What made humans so much better than us? Why don't you love me anymore? 

 

It wasn't all bad, really. He'd met the flustered Angel of the Eastern Gate and spent the next few thousand years feeling his heart thump and his pupils dilate every time he got so much as a whiff of the angel's cologne and the smell of gold and joy he exuded. He had asked the angel a thousand-thousand questions in that time. Still, even as he lays stomach down on their shared bed as his angel putters around the room he can't bring himself to ask a question. It feels strange, actually. He is the best at asking questions. He has questioned God to Her metaphorical face and yet he cannot ask his dandelion puff angel to simply explain why he had broken his heart again. It's been months since the question. Months since the wedding. 

 

"Angel?" He finds himself wishing his sunglasses weren't so far away. His angel turns and smiles with an inquisitive tilt to his head. He's dressed down and his hair is mussed. Crowley thinks he can just barely see the ephemeral flashes of his wings. His angel is tired, but he still smiles. 

"Aziraphale." He sits up and the angel's face changes slightly. "Tell me...Just tell me what I can do to make you say yes. How do I make you say yes?" Neither creature had ever been very good at their respective jobs, but neither creature was stupid. Aziraphale knows within seconds what the demon Crowley is asking. 

 

"My darling," he speaks whisper soft, "I told you no. That should be enough." The demon is on him in half a second. He does not flinch. 

"It is not enough, Aziraphale! Just tell me! I'll do whatever you want." His hands weakly grip at the angel's shirt before they fall. "I would pull the moon from the sky. I would stop time. I would swim in an ocean of holy water. I would trot up to Heaven and pull the wings from Gabriel himself! Anything. What do you want?" His voice grows weak and cracks. Only Aziraphale can do this to him. Even his Fall had not hurt like this. The soft, perfectly manicured hands that cup his cheeks and stroke the sharp cheekbones there nearly burn him. 

"Oh Crowley... My darling..." His blue eyes are sad and Crowley's body only clenches harder. He hates that look. "You will grow tired of this life. Maybe you won't grow tired of me, but you won't be able to tolerate the way I live forever. You change like the weather, my love, and I change at a glacier's pace."

Rage builds in his stomach and it falls away just as quickly. His angel is right. He is a creature of change. He loves the newest technologies and fashions. He loves new sights and sounds and smells. He loves how impermanent the world is...And yet in the years and centuries he had gone without seeing Aziraphale he had felt lost. The angel was not home. Neither of them had a home. The angel was a constant. He might return to a city in one hundred years to find it in ruins, but he could always return to Aziraphale and find that same gentle smile and scent of love.

"Six thousand years. I waited six thousand years for you to catch up." He sinks down to his knees. Aziraphale gently presses the red head into his body and strokes the fringe from his face. "I would wait six thousand more. Six million. Six billion. Name a number, angel, and I will wait for you." He hates this feeling of vulnerability. It's raw and it burns and it makes him feel cold.

 

His angel does not speak. He makes a low, soothing sound. Those pretty blue eyes grow even more sad as they meet the wide gold of a creature desperate for his own selfish desire. 

"You don't see the way they look at you. The humans. They think they could have you. I have always belonged to you, angel. Please... Even if it's only in name, be mine alone. I know that it won't be like the humans. I want them to look at you and know that someone has you. Someone has stolen you away. Please." He had never begged to be allowed back into Heaven. Some of his brothers and sisters had sobbed and screamed and banged at the gates of Hell. They wanted back in. They were sorry. God had not forgiven them. His angel was not so cruel.

 

Aziraphale sinks down so that he can press his forehead to Crowley's own. He links their hands together and squeezes fondly. "My darling, I have always belonged to you. No human or angel or demon has ever made me even consider not wanting to be at your side." He lets out a laugh that the demon never wants to hear again. It's something scared and self deprecating. "If you left...Well, I would wait just as long for you to return to me." He brings their joined hands up and kisses each finger on the demon's hand. 

 

It is a small miracle, really. They'd both done a thousand deeds more awesome. They'd both seen a thousand things more amazing. Yet when Crowley sees a gold band appear on his ring finger he feels he is witnessing something even greater than all the things that She has done. He had witnessed the creation of the Earth and humans and all the living things. Those creations were nothing compared to this. This small thing, a ring in the shape of golden angel wings, is the one that takes away the breath he does need. His angel kisses his own ring finger and a twin appears there. 

 

 


	6. The End

It ends, as it started, with a bookshop.

There are, at minimum, six thousand things that Crowley finds endearing about the angel that he now officially calls his husband. There is, of course, the way he is able to overheat Crowley's coffee without causing it to burn or taste overly bitter. There are the times when he takes Crowley's hands and carefully grooms his nails and uses soft hands to massage in some sweet smelling lotion. Some days he plants a hundred kisses on the demon's forehead and smiles every time. When they find each other after being seperated in public the way those blue eyes light up and his face splits into the most angelic smile never fails to make his heart stop. There are times that he bats his eyes and pouts until Crowley agrees to take him on holiday. He knows it isn't for the angel's sake. There's the year that two demons come knocking on their bookstore door. He tells them, "Yes. My husband is here, but we aren't entertaining visitors. Have a blessed day." The bookstore was closed for a week. They had needed a new bed anyway. He adores when they're just sitting together and his angel will stroke his thumb over the wings that adorn the demon's finger. Some mornings Crowley will catch him inspecting his own ring in the dim light of the morning sun.

 

He could go on and on about all the things he adores about his angel but at the moment it's the sight of the angel chatting with their new neighbor, "Yes! I am married. Oh... He's around here somewhere... Probably in the kitchen... Crowley! Don't stare. Come here, darling!"

The demon obeys and he doesn't even try to hide the little, lovesick smile that finds its way to his lips.


End file.
